


Another One of Those Nights...

by Kantayra of Yore (Kantayra)



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-08-01
Updated: 2002-08-01
Packaged: 2017-10-19 03:28:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/196372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kantayra/pseuds/Kantayra%20of%20Yore
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Demon goo, ruined clothing, singing Watchers, and lustful vampires: it's just another typical night in the life of a Slayer. Major B/S seduction themes. Set post S4.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Another One of Those Nights...

Buffy struggled frantically, flailing wildly in the air as the demon choked the life force out of her. Just as the world began to fade to black, her hand caught hold of something. Out of pure instinct, she swung it hard at the demon. It impacted right at the center of the green slimy thing’s forehead, and it dropped her, staggering backwards.

Buffy recovered herself in an instant, swinging her makeshift weapon – a stone cross from a grave she’d ripped in half…oops! – at the thing’s head repeatedly. It finally went down after a series of blows, and she let out a sigh of relief as it dissolved into a sticky pool of oozing pea soup.

She dropped her weapon before wrinkling her nose in disgust at the foul odor the bubbling remains were giving off.

“Eww…” she exclaimed upon discovering that the same rancid smell clung to her sweater where the demon had slimed her. She quickly yanked the garment off and, upon inspection of the tears, decided that it was yet another casualty of her slaying. Fortunately, she was wearing a tank top underneath it tonight.

She made her way slowly back home, taking a route that would lead her past Giles’ apartment on the way. If she could make a quick stop to report her night’s activities, she would save herself some time tomorrow.

Turning the corner to his block, she dumped her ruined sweater in a trash bin. The lights were on in his apartment, small squares of white illumination in the blackness of the night. That was good; he was still up.

She knocked.

No answer. Some scuffling in the background.

She raised an eyebrow and knocked again.

A loud crash. Muffled British curse words. Then, suddenly the light went out. Just as Buffy was beginning to fear that something was wrong, a loud “Come in!”

The door didn’t creak when it opened; it felt like it should have, though. The eerie blue flickers of the television screen were now the only illumination in the living room. The appliance was muted, allowing strange, unidentifiable gurgling sounds to be heard. A stench ten times worse than the demon she’d just killed wafted to her nose. It smelled just like…like…

“ _Rule Britannia! Britannia rules the waves!_ ” Two discordant, off-key voices suddenly broke the silence.

…Alcohol.

Buffy flicked on the overhead light switch inside the door.

“Bloody hell!”

“Oh, bugger!”

“Giles…” Buffy said in complete disbelief at the sight before her.

Her former Watcher sat on the couch, his normal neat tweed jacket gone and a rumpled, half-untucked button down shirt in its place. He held one hand over his face to shield his eyes from the sudden light.

“Spike…” Her eyebrow rose an inch at the black-clad vampire collapsed upon the floor.

“’Sss the Ssslayer,” Spike slurred, looking up at her and blinking blearily. “Shoulda known…’S always the Sssslayer…” He closed his eyes, and his head fell back onto the carpet.

“Giles,” Buffy repeated, aghast at the weird little giggles that were being emitted from her Watcher’s mouth, “what are you doing?”

“Duh,” he answered in a terrible imitation of a Valley Girl accent. “Getting ssshhhnookered!” He broke out in giggles again.

“Oh god!” Buffy rolled her eyes heavenward and wondered what she’d managed to do in a past life to deserve _this_. “How much have you two been drinking?” she dreaded to ask.

“Lots an’ lots an’ lotsshhh…” Spike was giggling now as well.

If at all possible, it was even more frightening than Giles giggling.

“ _Still more majestic shalt thou rise…_ ” he abruptly broke out into song again.

“ _The nations, not so blest as thee…_ ” Giles chimed in as well.

It took them a little while to realize that they weren’t singing the same words.

“You’re off,” Giles accused. “You’ve got the wrong verse…”

“We’re on the third verse, mate,” Spike insisted, grabbing a bottle of whiskey from the table and drinking deep.

“Second,” Giles pouted.

“Third.”

“Second!”

“Third!”

“That song had _verses_?” Buffy blurted out incredulously, snatching the bottle from the supine vampire before he could make matters worse.

“Americans!” they both scoffed in perfect unison.

Buffy sighed in exasperation and clutched at her hair. “Okaaay…” she finally said. “You two have had enough. You’re both going to sleep.”

“You gonna tuck me in, Slayer?” Spike asked with an odd combination of innuendo and inebriation in his tone. He managed to pull himself up to his feet using the arm of the couch for support and staggered over to her in mock imitation of his normal prowling grace.

“I am prepared to defend my Slayer’s honor with my life!” Giles abruptly proclaimed, getting to his shaky feet as well. “Hands off!” Then he hiccoughed and collapsed back onto the sofa.

“Relax, Watcher,” Spike’s face was now inches from hers, and she had to fight the urge to hold her nose to block out his liquored breath. “She smells all funny anyway. Like D’volin Demon…”

“ _I_ smell funny?!” Buffy exclaimed in outrage. “Well, excuse me, Mr. I-use-a-garbage-disposal-for-mouth-wash!”

Spike giggled again and flashed her a dimpled smile. “You’re cute when you’re angry…” he said softly, his hand reaching up to stroke her hair.

“Uh…yeah,” Buffy quickly took a step back, keeping herself well out of tactile range.

Spike seemed disoriented by her sudden movement and wobbled shakily on his feet.

She leapt over to catch him just as he fell sideways. She flinched inwardly when she realized that they had become wrapped up in an impromptu embrace. However, despite her fears, he made no lewd advances toward her.

She managed to half-support, half-drag him over to the couch. With a huff, she plopped him down beside Giles.

“You,” she sternly informed the ex-Watcher, “have to go upstairs to bed.”

“Go where?” His head lolled to the side, and he looked at her, a bewildered expression on his face.

“Oh, for crying out…” Buffy muttered under her breath. “Get up,” she ordered.

Spike stood.

“No, not you!” she screamed in frustration.

He sat back down.

“Giles. Up.” Crisp, precise tones.

They actually worked, too. Giles was up and wavering on his feet again in seconds.

Quickly realizing that he didn’t stand a chance on his own, she looped his arm around her shoulder and shuffled with him slowly up the stairs. His feet seemed to be heading off in random directions – when they were working at all – and half the time he was tripping her up.

Buffy bit back the string of swear words that was threatening to erupt from her mouth.

“Why are you drinking with the evil undead?” she finally managed to ask without too much venom in her voice.

Giles laughed. “We both got fired!” he declared as if it was a brilliant joke. “I got fired from being a Watcher, and he got fired from being a vampire!”

“’Ey, watch it, Rupert!” Spike’s voice shouted up at them.

“Giles, you got fired over a _year_ ago, and Spike’s…well, Spike’s almost always drunk, but…” She gave up, deciding that the logic behind drinking binges was far too complicated to try to figure out at one o’clock in the morning.

“ _Rule Britannia!_ ” Giles suddenly burst out singing again. “ _Britannia rules the waves!_ ”

“Enough!” Buffy finally lost her patience.

“ _Britons never, never, never shall be slaves!_ ” Spike finished the chorus.

“You, too,” she added sternly.

Blessed silence greeted her ears.

After what seemed like an eternity they reached the top. The short hallway to the bedroom was a simple matter given the Sisyphean task she’d just accomplished. There was a bit of fumbling for the doorknob, but she eventually got him deposited on the bed.

He lay back without complaint.

She pulled off both his shoes and decided that he’d just have to live with a crumpled shirt and trousers in the morning. He seemed to have misplaced his glasses, and Buffy decided that he could find them himself when he sobered up in the morning.

“Slay-er, Slaaay-er,” a voice sing-songed from downstairs.

Cursing alcohol, Watchers, vampires, her calling, and anything else she could think of, she descended the stairs to find Spike sitting on the bottom step, his head resting on the railing to look up at her.

“Y’OK?” he asked, smiling drunkenly at her.

“Fine,” she huffed, yanking him back up to his feet.

“D’volins can be nasty,” he commented, letting her lead him back to the couch.

She noticed that his speech was clearer and he was much steadier on his feet now. _Three cheers for vampire healing_ , her mind supplied sarcastically.

“Strong buggers,” he whispered, coming to an abrupt halt when they reached the sofa. “You OK?”

Again with the fingers in her hair! Why was he petting it like that? Oh yeah, he was drunk. So why was she _letting_ him pet her?! _Because it feels so good…_

Her eyes snapped open wide at _that_ thought, and she realized with some horror that she had no idea when she’d closed them.

“Have you ever wondered—?” he began.

“You should sleep it off here,” she cut him off. Hey, she was no fool. Certain naughty parts of her mind that were best left ignored liked the idea of ‘helping’ him all the way back to his crypt a bit too much. “You can stay for the day,” she continued to ramble on, trying to keep things all business, “just don’t wake Giles. He’ll probably be out of it for of the afternoon anyway, and—oh god!”

He really was making this unnecessarily difficult. Several additional little whimpers escaped her throat when his lips discovered her earlobe.

“Tell me you’ve never wondered what it would be like.” That seductive, husky tone his voice sometimes got was out in full force. “All that anger and hatred and violence suddenly converted into blinding lust and passion…” His hands were now skimming over her shoulders and down her arms, sending little tingles down her spine.

“I-I’ll get the blinds,” she stuttered slightly, pulling free of his grasp.

“Jus’ tell me, pet.”

She could _feel_ his eyes burning into her back as she lowered the shade, and a heady rush nearly sent her staggering.

“Tell me you’ve never thought ‘bout how great we would be together. What would happen if we stopped inflictin’ pain and started inflictin’ pleasure? You’ve never experienced anything like it, luv, I can assure you.” He gave her his trademark smirk when she turned to look at him.

She began walking back over to the couch, entranced.

“And neither ‘ave I…” This last line was almost a whisper. His eyes studied her up and down intensely, his every glance a caress. Her skin began to burn where those sapphirine eyes looked at her…

“You’re sober,” she accursed softly, stepping up to him so that they were nose to nose once more.

“No,” he said slowly, “but ‘m getting there…”

His hands were on her waist now, pulling her down onto the couch with him.

She absentmindedly noted that her treacherous hands were on his forearms. She would never admit it out loud, but she loved his arms. So strong and muscular, yet lean and sleek at the same time… Not too scrawny like lanky boys with chicken legs, and not too built like those bodybuilding guys in the infomercials that looked like they were lobsters in disguise. No, his were just…perfect.

She dazedly realized that she could no long see them. Her head suddenly found itself pressed into his shoulder as those beautiful, wondrous, powerful arms held her tight. Gentle, feather-light kisses were travelling down her throat now.

“I can feel it, y’know,” he whispered against her skin. “All that blood pumping, burning, aching… Just _waitin’_ for me to take a taste…”

“Go ahead,” she snorted derisively, coming back to herself a bit. “I’d get a real kick out of seeing you rolling around on the floor in pain.”

He didn’t respond but planted a quick kiss to her jugular instead. “I love arguin’ with you,” he sighed. “You’re the only one ‘ve ever met bitchy enough to take me on…”

“If you like arguing so much, why don’t you argue?” Buffy demanded, more than a little concerned by her body’s reaction to his nearness and hoping to restore their relationship to its usual adversarial state.

“Don’t wanna argue right now,” he purred into her ear, the vibrations sending little twinges of desire all throughout her body.

She belatedly noticed that when they’d fallen down to the couch together, she’d ended up sitting firmly in his lap, her legs straddling his waist. A hard bulge was now poking into her, making her feel terribly uncomfortable…like her clothes were chaffing so badly they’d scratch her skin right off if she didn’t get them off this instant.

“I have _other_ needs at the moment,” he continued to whisper to her in a soothing voice. “You can feel the fire between us; I know you can…”

“Spike…” The word didn’t come out the way she’d intended at all. It was supposed to be commanding, an order to stop. Instead, it had been a little mewling whimper as if she were begging for him, pleading for him…

A long, slow push, and she found herself lying beneath him, panting heavily. His hands were exploring her body now, although they managed not to stray to her most intimate areas… _That_ border had yet to be crossed.

“So long,” he murmured into her neck, licking at the sensitive skin there. “’S been so long…nearly two weeks…”

“Two weeks?!” she scoffed, rolling her eyes. “Try three months here.” Her hands found his platinum curls and discovered much to her amazement that they were still soft despite the constant bleaching. “And even then it was with…” she trailed off abruptly when she realized what she’d almost confessed.

“Cap’n Cardboard,” Spike finished for her. “’E’s not able to satisfy you, is ‘e, pet?” He ground his pelvis into hers, and she gasped at his hardness, her body aching for it even through two layers of jeans. “He’s not able to give you that…”

“Riley’s—” she began.

“Not here,” he cut her off. “He’s back home in White Bread country. Forget about ‘im, Slayer. He’s nothing…”

His hands and mouth were both getting bolder now. He sucked one earlobe between his lips while one of his hands was slowly sliding up to circle her breast…

She moaned at the sparks his touch sent throughout her body. And then her eyes widened in horror when the meaning of his words sank in.

“No!” she exclaimed, slipping out from under him and falling to the floor in a disheveled heap. “Riley’s my boyfriend! I won’t…I won’t… Oh god!” She wrapped her arms around herself and shivered slightly at what she’d almost done. And with _Spike_ of all people!

“Come back here,” he extended one hand to her.

It took all her strength to fight her body’s urges to accept what he was offering. After all, it had been _far_ too long since she’d had a man. And he was so beautiful…

“No,” she repeated slowly.

“Slayer…” His voice was shaking now and had almost taken on a pleading quality. “I can’t take it anymore, Slayer.” The look of complete pained honesty on his face scared her more than anything else at that moment. “I can’t keep it up. Feeling the fire an’ tension between us, an’ never acting on it…never doin’ what my entire being is screamin’ for me to—”

“Spike, you’re drunk,” she stopped him before he reached the point of no return. “I’ll probably never do this again, but I’m giving you a get-out-of-dusting-free card on this one. Just…lie down, and go to sleep, and it’ll all wear off in the morning…”

She was backing towards the door as she made this speech.

“It never wears off,” he sighed, clutching his head in his hands.

“I know,” she whispered so softly that only his vamp hearing allowed him to pick it up.

And then, in another instant, she’d flicked the lights back off and slammed the door behind her.

The walk – no, _run_ – back home was probably one of the most unpleasant experiences of her life. The entire way, her entire body was aching, trying to pull her back to Giles’ apartment and to the release that she would find there.

Her house, the stairs, her bedroom door – all a blur. By the time she finally came back from the fantasies that were plaguing her mind, she had already collapsed on her bed.

Her body was shaking slightly, still burning up with barely suppressed lust. Her chest heaved with ragged pants, and the blood was thrumming through her veins. She suffered from no illusions that it was the run that had made her so breathless and caused her pulse to race…

 _I’m the Slayer. I’m good._ Her mantra repeated over and over again. _I do_ not _want the evil vampire with the oh-so-sexy blue eyes… Dammit!_

She cringed inwardly. So she’d given Spike the excuse that he was drunk. What was _her_ excuse then? Nothing impaired her judgment at the moment.

 _Except the world’s most gorgeous vampire body…_

Buffy groaned.

It was going to be another one of _those_ nights…


End file.
